


The Kitchen Sessions

by makemadej (santamonicayachtclub)



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Business Boy Bergara, Dirty Talk, Drinking & Talking, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, shane madej has definitely never been tentacle-banged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santamonicayachtclub/pseuds/makemadej
Summary: How to make a business baby, starring the usual suspects.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 54
Kudos: 382





	The Kitchen Sessions

**Author's Note:**

> So there are a few references to things that were filmed at different times than I realized, also I'm dying at the guys continually refusing to settle on a story of exactly when they fled Buzzfeed's clutches. Timelines, how do they work, and does it matter? Also, few things amuse me more than knowing Steven Lim helped launch Tide pods.
> 
> Thanks so much to Bee for the beta!

**001**

“How,” Ryan demands, “did they suddenly go from being the Try Guys to the Succeed Guys?”

“More manpower and business acumen,” Shane says. Then, after thinking for a few moments, “Also a surplus of entrepreneurial aspirations due to less mental duress.”

Ryan’s face scrunches up in a way that could mean he’s about to burst into a guffaw or a protest. Or, knowing Ryan, both at once. Shane’s seen it happen before. “Hang on, am I causing you duress? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I meant the duress brought on by ghosts and your insistence they exist, but now that you mention it…”

“Fuck you, dude,” Ryan says cheerfully.

Onscreen, Zach continues reveling in starry-eyed wonder during his first-ever trip to Costco.

It is, Shane has to admit, mild to moderately adorable. 

More than anything else, though, it’s bananas. Then again, the Try Guys had better odds than just about anyone of leaving Buzzfeed and successfully going solo. Or whatever the four-person equivalent of solo is. _Rogue_ doesn’t seem like quite the right word, but it’s got a certain appeal to it. 

They’re at the kitchen table in Ryan’s new digs with their heads bent close over his laptop. It’s a lazy June afternoon, the city on the brink of catapulting into the slow sprawl of summer, and the first video on the new, improved, _independent_ Try Guys channel is up. They didn’t exactly plan to watch it when Ryan invited Shane over for drinks and ostensibly to help him unpack, but they can’t _not_ watch it either.

The trailer for it already sent their subscribers shooting through the roof, and Shane’s willing to bet they’ll break a million in less than a month, easy. The Try Guys have a massive fan base to begin with and starting off with the whole baby shower thing is pretty solid. But Shane is thinking about it with a producer’s mind, which of course means Ryan is too, probably twice as hard. How much did they spend on their supplies, how much before they break even, how did they get through all the red tape without setting each other on fire, how are they not freaking out at doing all this on top of having families and stuff? 

“I’m like...impressed with them and happy for them but I also kind of hate them?” Ryan admits, like he’s yanked the words right out of Shane’s disjointed thoughts. “Look at these assholes, their first episode is about Ned and Ariel having a baby, objectively one of the most stressful situations ever, and they’re _killing_ it.”

Shane bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snickering. “I see your point, but that wasn’t the best word choice.”

Beside him, Ryan sinks despondently into his chair and appears to be doing his best impression of a melting snowman. “You know what I meant. That’s so much responsibility it makes me want to have a panic attack _for_ them. I don’t even have a pet! Fuck, I couldn’t even be trusted to wake Roland up after he put his phone through the washing machine.”

Shane doesn’t comment on that.

“For real, though,” he says instead, hooking an ankle around one of Ryan’s chair legs. “It takes way less balls to do the kind of shit they do compared to running all over the country hunting ghouls.” 

“Definitely. We win in terms of badassery, no contest.” Under his beanie, Ryan beams like a sunrise and gives the fluorescence of the overhead light a run for its money. 

Shane’s head is swimming, and not just because of the spiked seltzer he’s been sipping for the past forty-five minutes. One of Ryan’s roommates works as a sellout for Amazon and apparently they had a surplus of the stuff because someone, who is presumably no longer allowed to order the corporate refreshments, thought it was plain old non-boozy seltzer. So _now_ there’s a surplus of the stuff in Ryan’s kitchen instead, and Shane can’t even think too hard about the ethics of how Amazon handles their shit because the kiwi strawberry is kind of addictive and this whole Try Guys thing is a lot to process sober. Especially with Ryan sitting there outshining his own light fixtures. 

“You basically make a living off having nervous breakdowns.” He takes another swig of seltzer, the bubbles sparking their way across his tongue as the afterimage of Ryan’s smile sparks along his subconsciousness. “Even forcing Eugene to babysit doesn’t come close to that kind of occupational trauma.”

Ryan doesn’t fire back a retort, doesn’t even seem to have heard him. “We’re still losing hard in terms of stuff like, I dunno, intellectual property and all that corporate jazz.”

Well, that took a turn. Shane does an exaggerated double take straight out of a Marx Brothers skit, but Ryan is too busy staring at his laptop to appreciate the artistry. 

“I mean, if _those_ guys can do it…” It’s not like Ryan to get all gloomy, even though his tone is still laced with levity. He’s good at covering for himself, but Shane’s known him long enough to tell when he’s forcing it.

At the same time, Shane gets it. Ryan has a talent for finding the sunny side of most situations—not just anyone can leverage their greatest fears into a full-time job—but he has to be feeling the same thing Shane is. That weird mix of excitement and envy, of watching someone else succeed and realizing maybe they’re doing a thing you didn’t know you wanted to do too and now it seems like such an unreality it might as well be science fiction. 

Then again, he hopes Ryan isn’t thinking this too. They can’t both be burning up in their own bitterness; that’s strictly Shane’s thing and he’d like to go on ignoring it in peace.

“Hey.” He gives a little tug with the foot still notched on Ryan’s chair. “I was kidding about the trauma thing. It’s not like we can compare ourselves to the Try Guys anyway, we’re playing two totally different games on two totally different fields. It’s just a bit.” Granted, they do have a habit of letting bits wear out their welcome.

Ryan is already backpedaling, clearly uncomfortable dipping his toe into cynicism. “Yeah, I know. And, for real, it’s awesome they’re making it work. It must have been a nightmare starting their own thing. Fuck, what’s it called?” 

“The company? 2nd Try LLC,” Shane supplies. 

“Wow.” Ryan gives a self-mocking laugh and shakes his head. “They’re out there getting shit done and I don’t even think I know what LLC stands for.”

Shane is all set to supply that information too, then pauses with his mouth half open. “Uh.” He gropes blindly through his memories, a sinking sensation in his stomach. “Lucky, lucky comrades?”

“Something something corporate, probably.”

“Isn’t that a band?”

“Shit.” Ryan turns to look at him, eyes big and owlish behind his glasses. “Actually, I think you’re right.”

“This is ridiculous,” Shane mutters, googling it. “Limited liability corporation.” 

Ryan perks up. “Hey, I did know that! I just haven’t needed to use that knowledge.”

They’re back to the status quo now and Shane scrambles to maintain it. “You know what, we can quiz each other on business acronyms anytime. Wanna get pizza?”

“Yeah, okay, let’s cut this out.” Ryan closes the laptop and grins at him. “I don’t want the Try Guys to know we’re thinking about them this much.”

  
  
  


**002**

  
  


They don’t call each other often because millennial phone anxiety is real and texting is the wave of the future. But sometimes there are just conversations that need more inflection than emojis can provide.

One of these happens when Ryan drunk dials him from the kitchen while an orgy or the Super Bowl or a Nintendo Switch drama plays out in the next room. Shane is already in bed, but he fishes his phone out from under Obi’s forepaws and answers anyway. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

Whatever madness is happening in Ryan’s living room, it involves a lot of yelling. Shane can barely hear him over the din. 

Ryan seems oblivious to this. His voice is almost dreamy, like he might be on the verge of falling asleep. Or maybe just high. “Hey man,” he says without ceremony. “So you know how sometimes you just want to have something that's yours? Like, your own property and your own rules and your own accountability?”

Shane knows drunken introspection when he hears it, even though he isn't sure what to make of it. “Wait, what? Are you talking about the bro zone? You guys literally just moved in last month. Are you already sick of each other?”

“Nah, just like...all the stuff we’ve made, it’s not _ours_ , you know? Creative ownership is serious shit. You think we could ever pull a Try Guys?”

Shane can’t quite believe he’s hearing this. “Are you seriously having brewskis with your homies and wallowing about _business strategies_?”

Ryan just keeps on monologuing. “We've been doing this for _years_ , dude. We’ve made so much stuff that isn't technically even ours. For example, I'll never be able to copyright Buzzfeed Unsolved under my own name.” 

He does have a point, and one that’s occurred to Shane many times before. He gives a noncommittal hum. “Unless you change your first name to Buzzfeed and your last name to Unsolved.”

“Could I legally do that?” Ryan sounds way too entranced by the possibility.

“Please, let’s not go down this road,” Shane begs. “Forget I said anything.”

A muffled cheer goes up in the background and Ryan turns away from the phone to shout something incomprehensible.

“Why aren’t you watching sportsball or whatever?” Shane asks when he comes back. “Sounds like everyone’s having a blast but you.”

Ryan sighs right into the phone and somehow it’s endearing instead of obnoxious. “We're out of popcorn, so I threw in some pizza rolls and they’re taking forever. Also I’ve got a lot on my mind and none of the guys here will get it the way you do.”

Shane’s heart does a triple axel. “I’m honored.” 

“We could, though, right?”

“What?”

“Make it happen. Just us.”

Shane’s brain takes those words and the soft booze-husked timbre of Ryan’s voice and twists them into something else entirely. He clenches his jaw. “In theory? Yeah.”

“Good.” Ryan sounds satisfied. “I thought so. I just needed to know you did too. This is one of those things that’s been kind of bouncing around in my head lately. But it’s not just me, is it?”

In January, Buzzfeed had released a “where are they now” video featuring several former employees. Zack was in it, still not technically a Buzzfeed employee, but definitely one who left on good terms. He and Ryan are working on a miniseries about sports conspiracies that’s supposed to air in the fall between Unsolved seasons and he keeps getting hired for contractual projects. Yessica too, who’s popped back in for the odd Debatable and to lament the demise of Street Tested. And Mallory, who’s doing just fine being married and working for Disney, which to Shane sounds like a nightmare that sucks all the magic out of everything, but she seems genuinely happy about it. 

At the time, Shane had been less jaded than he is now, but the waft of damage control hadn’t escaped him. The “why I left Buzzfeed” tell-alls have been popping up on YouTube more and more frequently over the past year or so. It just takes a quick search for the average inquisitive joe to get a peek into the frustration of having your content ownership and accountability all tied back to a corporation. If people are going to keep leaving, said corporation can at least let it be known they’re bounding off the Buzzfeed springboard into success. It’s precisely the kind of cheerfully manipulative move that’s put so many people off Buzzfeed to begin with.

“No,” Shane admits. “No, it’s not just you.”

“Okay, cool. Because you get what I mean, right?” 

“Right. Hashtag be your own boss. We could be selling essential oils. Just something to think about.” 

Ryan titters, then swears. “I forgot to preheat the oven, _that’s_ why this is taking so long. Multitasking is hard.”

“You’re so drunk, man. Make sure you have a fire extinguisher handy.” He’s only half joking. Pizza rolls are about as elaborate as Ryan’s cooking gets.

“Don’t hate, appreciate,” Ryan says airily, giving Shane yet another bewildering glimpse into his frat boy past. “I’d rather sell leggings, though. But yeah, def something to think about. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Gotta get my Master Chef on.”

Shane hangs up with a laugh on his lips and doesn’t fall asleep for a long time. 

  
  


**003**

  
  


They stay busy. 

It occurs to Shane later that maybe he and Ryan should have a nice sober conversation about that drunk dial and just how serious he was. They don't. 

There’s a fourth true crime season to finish editing, complete with Ryan frolicking around in an Indiana Jones outfit that gets increasingly more scandalous throughout the day. It’s possible he’s gotten too buff to be contained by mere buttons, which in Shane’s opinion is the _real_ treasure they find along the way. It’s just one reason the Forrest Fenn case ends up being one of his favorites.

They film their almost-70th episode, which airs in July and ends with them both covered in confetti. Shane strategically keeps his sunglasses nearby to shield how blatantly his gaze keeps drifting over to Ryan, sitting there looking sinful in his suit like there’s nothing devastating about it whatsoever. His tie is too long, the shiny tip of it brushing his crotch, where there also happens to be a pile of confetti between his obscenely spread thighs. It’s a miracle Shane gets through the day without tackling him. 

The month wraps up with a trip to Midsummer Scream. Ryan is giddy in front of an audience, so tightly wound Shane wants to run his hands over him until he loosens up, mold him like clay into a less frenetic version of himself. The fan pictures start showing up immediately, with Ryan looking sexily disheveled and Shane looking like a lost adjunct professor. Shane ignores the universal “don’t read the comments” rule and then doubly ignores the resulting leap in his stomach each time he reads the word “boyfriends.”

It’s August now, the final scorching stretch of summer when normally Shane wants to get out of town more than ever. It’s not really a conscious thing, more of a primal need to remind himself there are places in the world that aren’t smothered in heat-hazed sameness for most of the year. This time, though, there’s something different. A change in the winds, maybe, even though he swears the air still contains the usual mix of smog and citrus and sun-melted asphalt. Whatever it is, it’s something that makes him feel like maybe he should stick around and make this city adapt to suit _his_ needs for once instead of the other way around.

Like maybe Ryan should know how distracting his crotch and clothes and buffness are. 

Ryan, who’s been drinking up the sun and somehow managing to shine brighter every time Shane sees him, which is often. He’s posted a few pictures of himself and his abs, which Shane has scrutinized like a maniac until he’s almost ashamed of himself. It certainly isn’t his fault Ryan feels the need to document things like lounging around the lake with his roommates, limbs entangled and water beading bright on his bare skin. It’s getting intolerable.

Their crossover with Ladylike just throws even more fuel on the fire. Ryan can’t be this oblivious. He can’t just shimmy his hips and throw around the phrase “milky bottom” and post pictures of himself straddling a gigantic rooster and expect Shane not to explode. He has to say something before he loses his mind.

Then Ryan starts dating again.

Shane finds this out while they’re at his apartment to binge-watch the rest of Succession. Obi is still adapting to having guests, but every now and then he’ll peek his head into the living room to investigate. Ryan, despite his cat allergy, is hell-bent on trying to entice him out with bizarre meowing sounds. 

Obi bolts away yet again as Kieran Culkin is looking insouciant and saying something about “tasty morsels from groovy hubs” which sounds suspiciously like a Buzzfeed tagline to Shane. 

Giving up on his cat whispering career, Ryan shrugs at him. “Well, I tried. You got any big weekend plans besides hanging out with this antisocial dude?”

“Nah, not really. I _am_ planning on some nice relaxing Hot Daga editing, though.” He meets Ryan’s long-suffering eyes with a smile. “Unless you have any better offers that might distract me from it.”

“I wish I could get you away from that monstrosity, but I’m booked, man. I’ve got basketball and a date in Koreatown and then I’ve gotta finish this thing for—”

Shane blinks, then blinks again. “What.”

Ryan, somehow, is still talking as if the world didn’t just reshape itself around them. “Yeah, I’ve been telling ol’ Stevie Lim I’m gonna send him footage of all the fun we’re having here without him, so I was gonna—”

“Who’s your date with?” Shane interrupts, too flustered to even try and be cool about it.

“Oh.” Ryan’s brow furrows for a moment. “Her name’s Rachel and she’s from San Diego. Justin knows her, I’ve met her a couple times. She seems cool.”

Shane’s tongue has fossilized against the roof of his mouth in the space of a minute. He forces it free. “Hey, congrats. You’ll rock it, you’re a smoke show.”

Ryan winces. “Oh my god, never say that again.”

“A thirst trap?” Shane waggles his eyebrows. 

“I’m gonna get a beer,” Ryan announces, standing up with a pained look on his face. He gives Shane a pat on the shoulder. “And I’m gonna get you one too so you’ll stop talking.”

As soon as he disappears into the kitchen, Shane lets his head fall against the back of the couch and tries to rationalize. He’s a rational guy. It should be easy. Instead, his memory flashes back to just after Midsummer Scream, when they were on I’m Into That. Ryan was explaining their Twitter presences to Matt and EJ, or at least trying to. 

_We've really found our own niche,_ Ryan had said, _which is just us._

Just casually laying that out there as Shane tried to keep from erupting into a cloud of butterflies beside him. Who _does_ that?

Ryan is sweet, charismatic, and can probably bench press a minivan. He’s never going to stay single for long no matter how thirsty Shane is for him. It makes perfect sense. That doesn’t mean it won’t tear him apart inside.

  
  


**004**

  
  


Fall brings a few changes. Ryan's relationship status isn't one of them. He keeps right on doing the casual dating thing with Rachel. Shane’s met her a few times, a petite girl who works for a startup and has a smile almost as infectious as Ryan’s. She seems to make Ryan happy.

Shane can't begrudge him that. He just tries not to think about it either. 

Their fourth season of True Crime finishes airing and the internet is appropriately appreciative of Ryan’s Indy look in the finale. The fifth Supernatural season comes out in October and they still have a few more locations to shoot for the last few episodes, but everything is moving along according to plan. Shane is biding his time, waiting to hear back about his and Garrett’s pitch for season two of Ruining History. And Ryan...there’s a strange kind of gravitas about him that wasn’t there a month ago. 

The summer version of Ryan was joyful, riding the wave of all their hard work and living for every minute of it. Late September Ryan is wound too tight, but not in the hyperfixated way he gets when he’s deep into a project. There are times when he’s more distracted than anything else. Shane’s noticed him networking with potential sponsors on social media, things they haven’t discussed at all regarding Unsolved. He’s asked about it a few times, trying to figure out what the heck the endgame is here, and each time Ryan has grinned and waved it off. 

“Just seeing what kinds of options are out there,” he told Shane once, clearly meaning this to be reassuring.

Shane hadn’t dared to press him any further, but he’d immediately remembered that one drunk dial about Ryan wanting something all his own. If Ryan is looking for options, that could mean he’s thinking of leaving. But he would tell Shane if that was the case. He _would_. 

Shane’s never wondered before if Ryan is hiding anything from him. 

This is the version of Ryan who texts him, _hey wanna come over and give me an excuse to order chipotle for the 3rd time this wk?_

Of course he does.

Ryan answers the door with a rather shamefaced expression. “Just to make this clear, I’m not gonna make this a habit.”

“What?”

Ryan presses his lips into a tense line before answering. “I don’t know. Inviting you over to pick apart the latest Try Guys vids and mope, I guess.”

Under other circumstances, Shane would laugh, but there’s a brittle seriousness to Ryan’s demeanor. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Well.” Ryan dramatically topples backwards onto the couch. “It’s what _I’ve_ been doing. I’m open to other options, though.”

Shane tilts his head and waits.

Ryan sighs, looking soft-haired and solemn. He’s wearing one of those threadbare t-shirts with the sleeves cut off that makes him a constant wardrobe malfunction. His nipple is hard. Shane tries not to notice it, but then Ryan shifts and the shirt shifts with him so the other nipple is showing now. 

“Okay,” Ryan says after distractingly getting himself comfortable. “So I don’t normally get hung up on this kind of thing, but they’re kicking our asses.”

It takes Shane a second to put the pieces together on this one. Unsolved isn’t even airing right now, so of course the Try Guys are racking up more views than them. Then he remembers the sports mysteries thing Ryan was filming with Zack over the summer. Shane has practically negative interest in sports, so he’d had no qualms about stepping aside and letting a more knowledgeable co-host take over. He just hasn’t been able to bring himself to watch any of their episodes either. Something lurches in his gut when he realizes he’s part of the problem, as if denying Ryan one extra view is the entire reason he’s in a funk right now.

“I thought it was doing fine,” he ventures. “You guys are keeping people’s attention and getting them all pumped up for season five.”

“That’s what I _thought_ we’d be doing. But we’re not doing as well as the Try Guys series on driving while whatever.” 

The Try Guys have been rolling out an episode arc where they drive on a closed course after drinking or blazing it or other ill-advised things, then tally up just how much their abilities are impacted. Shane actually _has_ been checking those out. He’s the worst.

Ryan flops onto his back, hair ruffling up against the cushions. “We’re giving people an entertaining education on some of the wildest sports conspiracies of all time! They’re basically challenging people to drive in altered states!”

“That’s...not what they’re doing,” Shane says.

Even getting food doesn’t cheer Ryan up.

“Our Tombstone ep was a year in the making, man,” he sighs once they’ve placed an order on Seamless. “If we don’t kill the Try Guys with that one…”

“You know we don’t actually want to kill them, right? We couldn’t even get it right in The Sims.”

Ryan jabs him in the thigh with a sock-clad foot. “Yes, Shane, I’m aware. I just really want Tombstone to do well, okay? We busted our asses getting all the arrangements figured out for that one.”

“It doesn’t even come out for another couple of months.”

“A lot of stuff can change in a couple months, big guy.”

And Shane wants to ask what he means by that because Ryan sure as hell isn’t just talking about the two of them hunting for ghost cowboys. He forces down the bubble of anxiety building in his throat. Maybe it’s better not to know.

“The new season airs right after your sporty stuff. We’ll have our numbers back where they need to be, it’ll be fine. Quit being a worrywart.” 

“That’s what Rachel says.” There’s a soft hint of a smile at the corner of Ryan’s lips. Shane wants to take his face in his hands and kiss him so badly he has to look away. “Only without calling me names.”

“She’s a better person than I am.”

“Yeah, well, I complain a lot more to you than I do to her.”

Shane can’t help the flicker of pride in the pit of his stomach. “Let’s watch something brainless or play Smash Bros while we’ve got the place to ourselves. When do Kendall and Kylie get home?”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “ _Roland_ is at his parents’ for the weekend and _Danny_ is at a pub crawl.”

“Whatever. Get your shit together, I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you won’t even remember who the Try Guys are.”

  
  


**005**

  
  


When Ryan goes on contract, it’s like a blow to the head.

They’re halfway through filming season six when he drops the bomb. As much as Shane wants to say it feels like it comes out of nowhere, he knows it really isn’t. He’d rather it didn’t come during the middle of a Mario Kart tournament at Ryan’s place, but that’s not his decision either.

The living room is under what Shane likes to call heavy brotation. Ryan sends him a flurry of texts, swears up and down he didn’t know his roommates were planning to have so many people over tonight, but by then Shane’s Lyft is already halfway there. 

He doesn’t mind mingling with Ryan’s other friends. His roommates are good guys and Ryan’s known both of them for over a decade. The sheer concentration of testosterone is a little overwhelming, but Shane’s willing to roll with it and nurse a couple beers.

Ryan keeps trying to urge everyone out to the garage where they’ve got an actual beer pong table set up because of _course_ they do, but so far no one’s taking him up on it.

After an hour, the living room still shows no sign of emptying and there’s a tightness in Ryan’s jaw that sets Shane’s nerves alight. He’s ready to strike sparks when Ryan tugs him into the kitchen and away from the crowd with a murmured, “I’ve gotta tell you something.”

And he does.

Shane can’t even process it at first. His brain just flat-out refuses to absorb the information. All he can do is stare.

“I wanted to be sure and I wanted you to know first.” Ryan is twisting his hands together, looking miserable. “You can’t tell anyone, though. I mean, I know you won’t, but…”

Shane brings his bottle to his lips and drains it, then sets it on the counter with a clink that sounds eerily like a door being closed. “Did I taunt the ghouls one too many times?” he forces out. “I can be nicer to them if that’s what you need to stick around. They aren’t real, obviously, but I’ll be nicer anyway.”

“I’ll still be there!” Ryan jumps in. “Nothing’s gonna change about Unsolved, I just don’t think being at Buzzfeed full-time is the right fit for me anymore.”

There’s nothing Shane can say in response to that. There’s a twisting sensation behind his sternum, like part of him is slowly being pulled out and erased.

It’s funny. He always thought if someone was going to leave it would be him first. He’s older, he might want to go back to Chicago, and he’s always harbored a hipsterish wryness towards Buzzfeed. Ryan is still in his twenties and has family close by and always fit better with the Buzzfeed brand than Shane did. Ryan also already has a busy social life, including a girlfriend, and if he leaves Buzzfeed Shane will have even less of him. Selfishly, he wants as much of Ryan as Ryan will let him have.

“So, what is this, are you gonna go into the family business after all? Gonna be a dentist and make bank and maybe decapitate a few mooks?” He hopes the shakiness in his voice sounds like badly suppressed laughter.

Ryan drops his gaze, lashes long and dark against the gold of his cheeks, and laughs ruefully. “Fuck no, can you imagine me as a dentist? Lawsuit city.”

Shane doesn’t know what to imagine anymore. At this point, he’s just tipsy enough for his emotions to run closer to the surface than usual. He wants to slide his arms around Ryan’s waist under the slick fabric of his jersey, wants to crush them together until his face is buried in the soft sweep of his hair, and say _please don’t go_ even though he’s not technically going anywhere. 

Dimly, he’s aware of Ryan’s voice, low and earnest. “Remember what we talked about back in the day? About being able to do our own thing? I want to have a backup plan and I want you to be part of it.”

Shane has noticed him hustling for connections online, but hasn’t asked him about it again. He’s been telling himself Ryan will talk when he wants to, that if he doesn’t acknowledge Ryan doing things without him then somehow that makes them less nerve-racking. A juvenile way to go about things, but it’s all in the name of self-preservation. He’s still not sure what Ryan is trying to leverage his way into, but he’s been going at it with cheerful gusto. It makes Shane feel like he’s been hollowed out inside, bit by bit, and he hates how petty that is. Ryan has every right to turn his ebullience and enthusiasm to other things, other people, not him. 

“Our own thing,” Shane repeats. He’s been staring blankly over Ryan’s shoulder, memorizing the assortment of dishes visible through a half-open cabinet. When he meets Ryan’s gaze, the intensity there takes his breath away. 

“I don’t even know where to start, but I want to have time to figure it out. We could be our own production LLC.” Ryan grins. “That stands for limited liability corporation, you know.”

Shane has his issues with Buzzfeed, it’s true. He’s been rationalizing it for a while now, reminding himself that for all its strangleholds and bureaucratic bullshit, it’s also given him the biggest platform and audience he’s ever had. The more he’s let himself think about that, though, the more he’s concluded that Ryan is really the one making it all happen. Ryan’s got something rare, a work ethic and a vision and a personableness that make him dazzle. He was always destined to do awesome things. Buzzfeed is just a vessel, and one that’s going to hold him down in the long run.

Shane doesn’t have the same magnetism that Ryan does. He is, by his own admission, strange and off-putting, but he can’t stick with Buzzfeed forever either. Part of him is still surprised he’s lasted this long. If it wasn’t for Ryan and Unsolved, he’d probably have cashed in his chips long ago. It’s hard to say for sure, though. Imagining the trajectory of his life without Ryan is almost impossible.

His mind is reeling. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”

“Yeah?” Ryan looks elated.

“We can at least see what’s involved, educate our little brains.”

“There’s nothing little about your brain.”

“That was the weirdest insult.”

Ryan just beams at him. “I’m serious. I wouldn’t want to do this if you weren’t gonna be part of it.”

Shane sighs. They’re both a little drunk and the world might as well be spinning twice as fast. “C’mere.” 

He catches Ryan by the wrist and Ryan lets him. “We gonna hug it out, bro?”

“Damn right we are. Bro.” Shane hauls him in, ready to blame it on the booze later if he holds Ryan a little too tight for a little too long.

Starting something of their own still seems like a faraway dream. But maybe not quite as far away as before.

  
  


**006**

  
  


“You don’t understand,” Shane wails. “There's still so much history left to ruin!” 

It’s been a very, very long day. 

He knew it wasn’t going to be good news even before he got called into the budget meeting. For weeks now, every time he’s thought about the future of Ruining History, he’s gotten the feeling he gets when Final Cut crashes during an editing session, or when he hasn’t even seen the dailies yet but he knows everything is going to be off.

“I never even got to the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.”

“The what now?” Sara looks up from where she’s been sitting on the rug with her feet tucked under her, still swaying a catnip mouse in front of Obi. 

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Shane lets his eyes slide shut. “People _died_.”

Sara allows him to wallow for a little while, cooing to Obi until Shane can’t help cracking a tiny smile. 

“Did you tell Ryan?” she asks.

Shane hesitates. “He’s got a date. I don’t want to bum him out.”

Without comment, Sara arches her brows and waits. They were together for two and a half years before mutually friendzoning each other; she knows all his tells.

“Yes, I need to talk to him,” Shane admits. “Just not right now.”

“You could at least text him,” she points out. “Or I could.”

Shane crams a throw pillow over his face and groans.

“Okay,” Sara says cheerfully. “I’ll do it. If he’s on a date, he can check in with you when he’s free, but he needs to know.” She plucks the pillow out of his grip. “And for the record, I _do_ understand there’s a fuckton of history left to ruin and I want to be right there ruining it with you.”

“I know,” Shane mumbles, abashed. “It’s just...ugh.”

“Agreed.” She wrinkles her nose. “This whole thing is some serious ugh. Now go get out a sheet pan and any veggies you have. And chicken if you’ve got it, but sausage works too.”

They’re halfway through their one-pan meal prep when his phone lights up with a message from Ryan: _hey you wanna talk? what’s up?_

Shane swallows. “What did you say to him exactly?”

“Just that we’re hanging out, doing some therapeutic cooking.

“And?”

“And that they pulled the plug on Ruining History but we’re roasting some dinner instead of roasting Buzzfeed.” She gently elbows him. “Chill. You don’t have to reply until you’re ready, he knows you’re okay.”

“Right.”

Sara goes back to trimming green beans, then pauses as Shane is in the midst of slicing a cucumber, her eyes darting between the cutting board and his face. “Hey, does he still not know you want to—”

“ _Saraaaaa_ ,” Shane moans, nearly slicing his damn finger off.

“Okay!” She lifts her hands like she’s surrendering, but there’s a saucy glint in her eyes. “Are you gonna tell him before you officially go into business together?”

She and Garrett are the only other people he’s confided in about Ryan’s idea and he’s never regretted it until now. It’s not that she doesn’t have a very salient point, it’s that he’s way too aware he can’t just ignore it forever. “We’re not officially doing anything yet, we’re just feeling out our options.”

“Feeling out,” she repeats. “Interesting.” 

“It’s bullshit.” Shane takes his frustration out on a hapless head of broccoli. “Season two is already written! Garrett and I worked our asses off. We just need to edit and produce it. I had a whole list of craft store stuff I was gonna get to make props.”

His phone vibrates.

Before Shane has a chance to panic, Sara’s wiped her hands on a dish towel and answered it for him. “Ryan, hi! Yep, he’s right here.”

And then she’s pressing the phone into Shane’s palm and nudging him out of the kitchen.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Ryan is saying before Shane’s even got the phone up to his ear. “That’s some serious assholery. You’re telling me finance can splurge on gallons of truffle oil and fancy trips to Japan, but they can’t come up with the cheddar to produce a second season? Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you found out about this?” 

Shane sprawls himself full length across the couch. “I needed a little time to let it sink in. And I thought you guys were out for the night doing fun stuff. I didn’t want to take a giant dump all over it.”

Ryan chokes on a wheeze. “Gross, man. Change of plans. We just talked, then I went to the gym.”

“Are you that asshole who’s on his phone when people are trying to work out?” 

“Nah, I’m in the sauna. It’s the most private place I could find. No one else is in here. I’m kind of surprised I’ve got service.” 

Shane lets that mental image marinate for a few moments. “Yeah, same. So hey, how much do you think it costs to buy Buzzfeed?” 

Ryan snorts. “More than it’s worth, that’s for sure. How’s Sara doing?”

“Good. Making me eat stuff and trying to train Obi to shake hands. How’s Rachel?”

Ryan makes a pained sound, like he’s somehow dropped a weight on his foot despite being in the sauna.

“Are you on a break?” Shane pauses, waits. “That was a Friends reference,” he adds helpfully.

Ryan doesn’t so much as giggle. “She’s moving soon, gonna start at UC Berkeley for her MBA next year. So it’s kind of more permanent than a break.”

Now it’s Shane’s turn to grimace. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I was just kidding, I swear. I can’t believe she dumped you right before Christmas.”

“It’s all good, we’re still cool. I knew she was looking at grad school from the get-go.” Ryan sighs. “We were never super serious, but it was fun.” 

Shane sighs right along with him. It’s a banner day for sighing. “Still. That’s tough.”

“Okay, no more moping. It’s Christmas.”

“It’s December tenth,” Shane replies automatically.

Ryan ignores him. “What if we stepped our game up with this company thing? You think we can at least get our own history show rolling?”

They’ve googled the basics, but they’re so far from getting anything rolling it’s ludicrous. “Ryan. We need a budget and a business plan and financial backers and shit. It’s alarming how unequipped we are for this.”

“Yeah, but the thing about ignorance is that it’s only a problem if you’re not willing to learn, and we _are_ .” Ryan is on a roll now. “Face it. The ’feed has been letting us down for a while now. You had a whole new story arc planned for the Hot Daga and they cut that. You had a whole new series _already written_ for Ruining History and they cut that. We need a safety net.”

“Pouring all our resources into birthing a full-grown business is not safe. I’d venture to say it’s the opposite of safe.”

“Hence sponsors, big guy. You know we can hustle.” He pauses. “Also you don’t birth anything full-grown. It’d be a baby business.” 

“That’s true,” Shane muses. “We’d have to feed it and water it and clean up after it. You think we’re ready for that kind of responsibility?”

“All I know is that when I get home I’m gonna clean the kitchen,” Ryan says. 

Shane eyeballs his phone as if Ryan can see his bewilderment. “I’m...missing something.”

“We need a boardroom,” says Ryan, like it should be obvious. “I feel like between your place and mine, my kitchen has the most table space for us to get cracking. So here’s what’s gonna happen, okay? We’re gonna use all that bulletin board space and I’m gonna steal some of that adhesive chart paper from work and we’re gonna literally get down to business.” 

It’s hard to imagine them getting much done beyond haphazard googling and drunken banter, but there’s a fervency to Ryan’s tone that makes Shane want to believe him. “So this is going to be our office for 2019, huh? Crack open a cold one and figure out how to handle birthing a business.” 

“Yep.” Ryan sounds pleased. “Maybe knock back a shot and cry in frustration every now and then. Just trying to be realistic here.”

Shane snorts. “We can call it Beers and Tears LLC.”

That gets a giggle out of Ryan. “Booze and Boo Hoos.” 

“What about Ken—?”

“Do not call them Kendall and Kylie, Shane, I swear to god. I’ll make sure we’ve got a standing arrangement with them about the kitchen-office, okay? And I’ll be extra sure there's no surprise guests.”

Sara joins him in the living room once they hang up. “Food’s in the oven for about ten more minutes.” She scrutinizes him after she’s nestled into an armchair with her phone. “Whoa. You’re _smiling_. What happened?” 

“I think,” Shane says slowly, “that we just agreed to make a business baby together.”

Sara doesn’t seem remotely surprised by this. “Mazel tov. You guys need to cut me in for whatever history spinoff you do, just saying. I bet I’m not the only one who’d be down for that.”

The smell of sausage and roasted vegetables wafting through the room is delicious, but there’s also a singe of something wild and new lingering in the air. Even though it’s winter, LA is still sunny and balmed with eucalyptus; that hasn’t changed. This is more a sensation than a scent, something electric with possibility, something that makes Shane feel more forgiving of this city than he has for a long time. 

Granted, he can’t wait to get back to Schaumburg for the holidays and some good old-fashioned snow. But he also can't wait to find out what kind of creation he and Ryan are capable of.

  
  


**007**

  
  


January is a meat grinder.

The new year brings business plans and layoffs and Steven Lim, who relocated to New York in May, moving back to LA.

The layoffs are the worst. They take everyone by surprise and send Shane’s opinion of the Buzzfeed bigwigs plummeting straight through the center of the earth. When he negotiates his way into becoming a contractual employee instead of full-time, it feels like a walk in the park compared to what TJ and the other laid off folks are dealing with. 

Even the blisteringly dry research he and Ryan are doing is a vast improvement on being at the Buzzfeed offices full-time. If anything, it makes Shane throw himself into it even harder. There are so many newly unemployed colleagues that they could work with if they pull this off.

They learn the difference between an LLC and an LLP, a corporation and an LP, and what the implications are for being taxed as each one of them. They learn just how the fuck to figure out what kind of company is the best fit for them, regardless of how daunting the IRS makes all of them seem. They learn to hate the Secretary of State’s website a little bit less every time they have to visit it. Ryan confesses to asking his parents for a good business attorney for Christmas. Shane calls his dad and takes advantage of all his experience from working with the Schaumburg finance department.

Once or twice, Ryan even Skypes Rachel and she explains the incorporation documents to them without a hint of frustration.

They eat way too many snacks instead of actual meals.

“Oh my god, you have _food_ ,” Ryan yelps when Shane shows up for a planning session with a couple of flat boxes in his arms.

“Heck yeah I do. Bringing some California Pizza Kitchen to the California business kitchen.” Shane sets them down with a flourish. 

He’s halfway through his second slice when Ryan says, “It feels like we’re starting from nothing.”

“We’re not nothing,” Shane protests, a little wounded Ryan thinks so little of everything they’ve accomplished. “We’ve got a proven success rate here.” He waves a hand at a printout of the pitch they’ve drafted for financial backers.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I haven’t taken a business class in, um, ever. And neither have you, don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

He does have a point. 

“I want to talk about maybe bringing Steven into the mix.” Ryan is already holding up a hand before Shane can open his mouth. “Hear me out, okay? He’s methodical as fuck and he’s in a weird place right now. I think we could give each other some stability.”

Shane mulls this over as he finishes the rest of his slice down to the crust. Overall, Steven's a solid guy. His work ethic is tops, he’s been successfully steering the Worth It train for a while now, and he gets along with them both. Shane still has a tiny grudge from the time Steven kept getting in his face when they were trying hangover foods a few years back, but he magnanimously sets this aside.

“You think he’d go for it? He won’t feel like he’s going from being Big Apple Steve to Small Potatoes Steve?” 

“It’s not like he’d be giving up his life,” Ryan says, licking marinara off his thumb with a borderline orgasmic look on his face. “He’ll be able to keep on doing Worth It the same way he’s been doing it. I mean, we’re still sticking with Unsolved.” 

“For now, yes,” Shane concedes.

“Dude had a full-on career at Proctor and Gamble before he followed his dreams west to make it in LA. He’s a calculated risk-taker and I think we’re a reasonable risk.”

Shane lets himself entertain the idea of having Steven on their team. “Are we... _worth it_ , would you say?”

“I’m serious.” Ryan actually is trying to sound serious, Shane can tell, but the giggles ruin the effect somewhat. “We need a strong core and this is a lot for just the two of us to handle. Rachel told me—”

“Was she your girlfriend or your business consultant?” 

“Why not both?” Ryan says innocently. “Maybe entrepreneurship gets me hot.”

Shane digests that for a moment. “Lucky me.”

“Besides.” Ryan flashes his most angelic smile. “Three is a good strong number.”

“Ryan, if you mention the holy trinity, I will throw this pizza at you.”

“You don’t want to make sure our business is ghost-proof?”

“If this were an episode of The Office, I would be looking directly into the camera right now,” Shane sighs, and hurls a half-eaten crust at him.

Ryan shrieks and almost topples out of his chair trying to dodge it. “Come on! It’s a good idea, admit it. Who ya gonna call?” 

For a brief moment, Shane remembers when they’d revisited the Winchester house, when he’d shouted _let’s tango, baby_ at the empty air just for the hell of it. He feels sort of like doing the same thing now. Like the rush of the future is about to overtake him like a tidal wave and he can either let it drag him under or carry him forward.

“Who ya gonna call?” Ryan urges again. 

He chucks a breadstick at his head and Shane snags it out of midair with his smuggest smile. _Let’s tango, baby._

“Steven Lim, I guess.”

  
  


**008**

  
  


Shane convinces Ryan they should wait until they’re a little more polished to have this chat with Steven.

He’s not trying to stall, not entirely. Looping in Steven is sensible and they do need to get organized if they want to entice him into joining them. It’s just that Shane has a few things he needs to work through before they pitch him. 

Part of going into business together is transparency, and Shane has kept himself consciously opaque for a long time now.

“I've gotta tell you something,” he blurts out the next time they finish poring over their business plans for the night and start pouring drinks instead.

Ryan quirks a brow. “Okay, go ahead.”

Shane wants to kick himself for saying anything at all. “I will. I’m just...I'm not gonna be able to do it without a little Dutch courage.”

Ryan’s other eyebrow joins the first one. He’s already reaching for the bottle of 1800. “All righty, then. Tequila?”

Time slips past them like water. Ryan doesn’t complain or pressure him to spill the beans, just calmly matches him shot for shot until the inside of Shane’s head feels like an hourglass slowly leaking sand. 

“So,” Ryan is saying. He doesn’t appear drunk at all, which seems deeply unfair. “I have something I want to tell you too. This one time I was watching RuPaul’s Drag Race, and they have this segment where all the contestants have to make puppets of each other. And I remember having this epiphany the other day: RuPaul was right. Everything's better with puppets.” 

Shane squints at him, then takes off his glasses and squints even harder. “ _Is_ it?”

“Well.” Ryan takes a long pull from his water bottle. “Maybe not _everything_. There are plenty of things puppets would make objectively worse. But I think we could do a whole Ruining History thing, only obviously not calling it that, and we could have puppets. We could call it, I dunno, something about pulling the strings of history. And I bet we could get Sara in on this, seeing as she literally makes puppets.” 

“I...don’t hate it,” Shane says slowly, and Ryan smiles so wide he has to close his eyes.

He must doze off for a little while, because when he sits up there’s a horrible crick in his neck and something he thinks is The Road to El Dorado is on the flatscreen. He has no idea how long it’s been there. On the other side of the sofa, Ryan is munching sweet potato chips and appears to be singing along in an undertone.

Shane rakes a hand through his hair and swallows hard. This is probably the bravest he’s ever going to be.

“Showtime,” he murmurs, and pours himself one last shot.

Ryan glances over at him. “Hey there, sleeping beauty. What’s going on?”

Shane tips back his shot, bites down on a slice of lime until the tartness makes his head pound, and goes all in. “If we're gonna do this, there's some stuff you should know about. Before we sign all kinds of binding documents and you can’t change your mind about anything. Before we bring anyone else into this.”

He pauses, scrutinizing Ryan’s face for the faintest flicker of fear or revulsion. Nothing. Just those wide trusting eyes drinking him in.

“Okay. So. Here’s the thing. I like you. Kind of a lot.” This time when Shane breaks off, his face is so hot he’s expecting to burst into flames. It might not be a bad way to go. He couldn’t possibly bungle this any harder.

He must look particularly concerning because Ryan passes him a water bottle of his own. “Thanks, Shane. I kind of like you a lot too. Now if you have a tumor or something, can you please, please just tell me?”

The bottle’s cap skitters out of Shane’s grasp and disappears across the coffee table. “A _what_? No, Jesus, it’s nothing like that.” 

“Then what the hell is all this mystery about?” Ryan explodes. “Because if you want me to give you a kidney I need to know before I have a panic attack.”

“I don’t want your kidney,” he says. And then he can’t say anything else, can’t do anything but squeeze his eyes shut, willing Ryan to understand. 

“Then…” Ryan draws out the word for an eternity.

“Please don’t make me spell it out,” Shane whispers. He never should have said anything in the first place. He’s not strong enough to do this and he definitely isn’t strong enough to handle the fallout.

“I think you’re gonna have to, man. I’m lost.”

“I have to pee,” Shane mumbles, and hightails it for the bathroom.

There are only so many things to do once he’s locked the door, but Shane resolves to do every one of them. He spends a solid two minutes just remembering how to breathe. He relieves himself, washes his hands, splashes icy water on his face until it’s pink and stinging. He isn’t sure how much time passed while he slept, but it was long enough for some of the alcohol to wear off. Shane sort of wishes it hadn’t. At least then he’d be too drunk to remember making an idiot of himself in front of Ryan’s stupidly earnest face. And now he’s had to go and sober himself up even more by dunking his face in cold water, that was stupid of him.

His phone is still on the coffee table, which is probably for the best. If he had it with him, he would be able to hole up in the bathroom for much longer without losing his mind, but he would probably also do something pathetic like text Sara the whole story. 

There’s a tiny window high up on the wall beside the toilet and Shane kills some more time by strategizing ways to contort himself through it. Maybe if he waits it out, Ryan will just go to bed and leave him be. But Ryan can go without sleep all night easily, he’s well aware of that. He’s a little surprised Ryan hasn’t come up to tap on the door and ask if he’s all right; surely enough time has passed for him to start worrying that Shane’s somehow squeezed himself down the drain.

When he can’t put it off any further, he draws a deep breath and opens the door.

Nothing happens.

The knob turns just fine, but he can only push the door itself a fraction of an inch before it jams and refuses to budge.

“Cool.” Ryan sounds impressed. He also sounds as if he’s directly outside. “That actually works.”

“Ryan,” Shane says in his sternest voice. “What the fuck is this?”

“I got a chair out of the kitchen and stuck it under the doorknob,” Ryan says brightly, like he’s just put the finishing touches on a day’s worth of editing. “This is awesome, I didn’t know it would work so well.”

Shane heaves a sigh. He wants to crawl into his own bed and forget the last several hours, forget everything until back before whenever he pissed off the entire universe and ended up on the receiving end of its torture. “Yeah, it’s fabulous, you’re like a reverse Houdini. Let me out now.”

Ryan hesitates. “Yeah, uh. No?”

Shane rattles the doorknob again. “ _Ryan_.”

“I’m not doing that.” His voice is steadier now, more decisive. “Not until you tell me about your not-a-tumor.”

Shane slams his shoulder against the door as hard as he can. The door shudders on its hinges, but doesn’t open. He grits his teeth and does it again.

“Hey, stop!” Ryan yelps. “Cut it out, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Then how about,” Shane rams it again, “you open,” and again, “the fucking _door_.”

He throws himself against it so hard his bare feet leave the floor.

There’s going to be a massive bruise on his arm in the morning. The door doesn’t have so much as a dent.

Shane gives a halfhearted shove with his other shoulder, then sinks onto the floor with his arms draped over his knees. He’s like the one kid from the Magic School Bus. He should have just stayed home today instead of letting himself get into this mess. Should have just laid a big old smooch on Ryan and let him process the information that way. Should have waited for him to fall asleep and whispered the confession to him, hoping that if it all went badly he could at least get Ryan to believe it was all a dream.

On the other side, he can hear Ryan drawing a shaky breath. “Please, just listen to me. If we’re gonna raise this business baby together, I need you to trust me.”

“I _do_.” Shane’s voice breaks, all the frustration suddenly spilling out of him. “There’s some stuff I just don’t need you to know.”

“Nice try. Spit it out, truth or truth.”

“It’s nothing life-threatening, I promise.”

“Cool, then what is it?”

Shane shoves the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I don’t want to start a business with you. I don’t think we can do it.”

“Liar,” Ryan says blithely.

“I’ve actually believed in ghosts this whole time. My Unsolved persona is just a front.”

Ryan scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

For a long time, Shane rests his head on his knees and tries to will himself asleep again. Ryan isn’t going to believe anything he says anyway, there’s no point in arguing with him. 

Then again, there’s a kind of liberation in that too.

Shane pushes himself to his feet. For one wild moment he considers trying to punch his way through the door until his fists bleed, then just as quickly rejects the idea. There’s no need for that. He can do it with words.

“Fine. I can do this all night, so get comfortable out there.” 

No response from Ryan. Maybe he gave up while Shane was giving him the silent treatment.

“I think it’s really shitty you started begging for sponsorships without telling me what you were trying to do,” Shane declares. “We’re supposed to be a team.”

Still nothing.

Shane swallows. “I don’t think you ever gave a shit about me and just made up the company thing to make me feel better and now you’re in too deep.” 

He tries to keep his tone cool and even, but even he can tell there’s a distinctly hysterical edge. Fuck it.

“I snuck into your parents’ house and dognapped Micki and Dori. It drives me crazy the way you always talk to yourself and sometimes I have to wear headphones because I never know when you might start it up again. I don’t even like Chipotle that much, I just put up with it because you have the taste buds of a five-year-old. I want to murder you right now but I still really, really want your dick in me. I think you—”

The door opens with a soft click. 

Panic clots Shane’s throat. 

Ryan’s eyes are huge, gleaming like fathomless pools.

“Shane,” he says. So soft, almost inaudible. Soft and deadly serious. 

Terror claws up his spine in a way it never has on any of their Unsolved shoots. “Okay.” His voice is practically a rasp as he stumbles into the hall. “I’m gonna call a Lyft.”

“Please don’t.”

“I need to _leave_ , Ryan.”

“I know, buddy. I’m asking you not to. Come here.” 

“I didn’t mean any of it,” Shane says in a rush. “I just wanted you to open the door.”

Ryan watches him, eyes clouded with concern. “Really.”

Shane crumples. “Please don’t freak out. I never want you to freak out because of me.”

“Yes you do. You do all the fucking time. You love it when I freak out!”

“No.” Shane is past the point of finding the humor in any of this. He slumps against the wall, feeling too cloddish to shake his head without toppling over. “Not like this.”

For a long, staticky silence, nothing happens. Shane is starting to think maybe he should just try to grab his things and bolt out the front door when Ryan sighs. “There’s been a lot going on in that big old head of yours, huh?”

“Yeah.” Shane hisses a breath through his teeth, frustration prickling at his eyelids. No point in trying to hide anything now. “This is really bad timing, I’m aware. I don’t want to fuck everything up before it even gets off the ground, but…” He waves a hand vaguely, too mentally exhausted to finish his thought. “The heart wants whatever, et cetera.”

“The heart wants whatever,” Ryan echoes.

He still doesn’t seem anywhere close to distressed. Maybe he’s in shock. Five seasons of ghost hunting, and Shane wanting to take him to bonetown is what finally makes him flip his lid.

“For example, my heart really wants you to know I still don’t have a fucking clue how we’re going to run a company. Or how to just have a best friend like a normal human being, I guess.”

“But we’re doing it anyway, aren’t we? Yeah, we’re totally new to being CEOs, but we’re gonna make it work.” Against all logic, the corners of Ryan’s mouth are twitching into a smile. He’s definitely lost it, Shane decides. “We’ve made so much progress already. I got you agree to including a fucking puppet show, anything’s possible.” 

“Ryan,” Shane says deliberately. “I’m trying to impress upon you just how much of a mess I am right now and probably for the foreseeable future. Even without my personal bullshit, we've already got a lot of stuff to figure out together.” 

“Exactly! Might as well throw one more thing on the pile, you know? I’m in if you are.” 

“What,” Shane starts, numb with disbelief as Ryan fits himself against him. 

His smile is so soft, hair standing up like wild grass, the amber slant of lamplight caressing his face to the point it hurts to look at him. Shane can’t stop looking to save his life.

“Come here,” Ryan says again. “You absolute fucking dumbass.” 

And instead of landing a sucker punch on Shane’s jaw, which is really all he deserves at this point, Ryan kisses him.

  
  


**009**

  
  


Even then, it takes Shane a few moments to stop bracing himself for some kind of punchline and comprehend that Ryan truly doesn’t have an agenda _beyond_ kissing him. The realization hits him so hard it practically knocks him over. Nothing is holding him upright anymore but the press of the wall against his back and the far more delicate press of Ryan's lips on his.

And then carefully, carefully Shane finds himself tilting his head to the side and parting his mouth. Ryan is so warm, so sweet, he has to seize the moment before it passes. It's just too bizarre to be real, even with the aftertaste of tequila and the throb of his shoulder indicting otherwise. 

When Ryan brushes a tentative sweep of tongue against his lower lip, Shane decides that if this were a dream he would have definitely jolted himself awake by now. This has to be real, then, however improbable. The two of them tangling together in the hallway outside Ryan's bathroom, making tequila-tinged kisses their entire world, is somehow actually a thing that's happening.

And, apparently, a thing Ryan is in no hurry to end. 

Ryan is slow and heated and thorough, as if he’s pouring as much of himself into a simple kiss as he possibly can. His tongue presses deeper, a little curl of heat that might as well be a live ember the way it makes Shane’s whole body give a jolt. He can barely make sense of this, too overwhelmed to properly respond and at the same time greedy to feel even more of Ryan’s warm skin under his mouth.

He can feel it when Ryan smiles, the little shit, and that’s what finally gets him to do something with his hands other than twitch them uncertainly at his sides. He has one of them threaded through Ryan’s hair before he knows it, the other fumbling around his shoulder, slipping down to settle in the dip at the small of his back. 

And he lets himself melt against Ryan’s yielding mouth until his lips are tingling. Ryan’s hand is splayed between his shoulders, clutching at his shirt enough to ruck the fabric up Shane’s back. It sends sparks surging along his spine, makes him curve into the touch. There’s nothing left in the world but warmth and the slow rhythm of their tongues as they learn to fit themselves together this way

By the time they part, Shane is barely clinging to the surface of the earth. He feels giddy, hollow-boned and in danger of being swept away at any second.

It takes a few tries, but he manages to force out a full sentence. “Okay, I won't get a Lyft.”

Ryan’s mouth is very pink and his eyes are Sallie House huge. 

“We should...talk about this, probably,” Shane offers after a beat, since Ryan seems lost for words.

They’re still only inches apart, close enough for him to feel it when Ryan lets out a shuddery burst of breath. “Yeah,” he says, a hint of unsteadiness in his voice. “There’s this thing you need to see first, though. I wasn’t planning to do this tonight, but c’mon.” He jerks his head toward the stairs. “I’ve got something I want to show you in my room.”

Shane’s mind gleefully runs down a dozen different gutters of possibility. “Oh _ho_.” 

Ryan actually blushes. “It’s not a sexy thing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Shane blurts out, immediately cringing. “I mean, I do think I’m a pretty good authority on the subject.”

“I cannot fucking believe I just kissed the mouth responsible for saying shit like this,” Ryan grumbles, but he’s smiling. There’s a spark in his eyes that makes Shane want to grab him by the hips and pin him against the wall, to feel Ryan warm and solid and writhing against him. It’s an urge he’s had many times before, but never like this. Never when he thought Ryan might actually _let_ him. 

Instead, he follows Ryan upstairs and doesn’t press his luck.

Walking into Ryan’s room is like walking into an interactive bullet journal.

At first, Shane isn’t even sure what he’s looking at. Several sheets of the adhesive chart paper Ryan swiped from the office are neatly adorning his walls, amidst the movie posters and framed jerseys and his Hokusai Wave banner. Each one is labeled with a different month in bright red marker and absolutely covered with timelines, to-do lists, and multicolored arrows jabbing every which way. 

Realization dawns as Shane is scrutinizing the chart labeled March 2019. “On track to incorporate by April/May if…” is scrawled in Ryan’s distinctive handwriting. 

The criteria are all there, spelled out on color-coded sticky notes and supplemented by document drafts Ryan has taped as reference points all over the place. They need to come up with a good name no later than this date, they need to finalize their budget by that date. There are deadlines and steps they need to take in order to finalize their lineup of shows. There’s information on how much funding they still need to secure in order to not completely bankrupt themselves. There’s a whole section dedicated to tasks they can delegate to Steven Lim, but only if they can get him on board, which is most likely to happen by doing the following, as indicated by a neon green arrow indicating yet another sheet of chart paper. 

Ryan has a full-on Forensic Files investigation board of entrepreneurship in his bedroom.

Very slowly, Shane turns to face him.

Ryan spreads his arms. “Behold, or whatever.”

“You’re wrong,” Shane says bluntly. 

Ryan’s smile falters.

Shane closes the space between them in less than a second. “This is sexy as fuck.”

It’s mindblowing, the fact that Ryan has been pouring his perfectionism and detail-oriented neuroses into all this for months. The sheer magnitude of everything he’s put himself through outside of their so-called boardroom sessions yanks the floor out from under Shane’s feet and leaves him wheeling for balance. If he lets his hand linger on Ryan’s shoulder a little too long when he gives him a pat, it’s just to reassure himself he's still upright.

“In case you had any doubts about how serious I am,” Ryan says.

If Shane could slap himself and kiss Ryan senseless at the same time, he would. “I know you are, shit, I just...I was being an asshole.” 

“Duh. You love Chipotle and you would _never_ kidnap my mom’s dogs.”

Shane is back to staring at the business murder wall, struggling to take everything in. “How did you…this is insane.”

“Lots of trial and error, dude.” Ryan locks his hands behind his head, t-shirt hitching across his biceps and Shane’s pulse hitching right along with it. “I had Zach share copies of some of the documents the Try Guys used so I could see how they pulled everything off. Also I’ve been bugging Rachel when she’s not too swamped. And my dad’s got a private practice, I made him talk to me about some stuff he’s had to deal with. So I’ve kind of been messing with everything until it makes sense to me.”

Shane can barely speak, the scope of it all is still wringing the breath from him. “Holy shit, Ryan.”

“Shane,” says Ryan, his voice suddenly more level. More _businesslike_ . “For real, I think we can make it work. I mean us _and_ this. We can try.”

“Yeah,” Shane says, his heart jackhammering against his ribs. “We can try.”

The touch of Ryan's mouth to his jaw has shock waves resonating through his bones. 

“C'mon.” Ryan is grinning against his cheek, devilish and familiar. “Let's make a business baby.”

  
  


**010**

  
  


As ready as Shane is to spend the rest of his life making out in Ryan's bed under the tender gaze of their corporate timeline, he has to speak up before he forgets how.

“You know,” he pants as Ryan sucks a mark into his collarbone, struggling with his button-down. “I— _fuck_ —didn’t know till today you even had a notion about doing this kind of stuff with me.”

A mess, that's what this is. Shane needs a shave and he’s disheveled from falling asleep in his clothes, but apparently he’s the kind of mess Ryan is happy to revel in. 

"I've had," Ryan’s voice is low, just the barest shred of sound, " _notions_ aplenty." Both his hands are bracketing Shane’s face, holding him in place to force eye contact. Letting Shane absorb that statement before Ryan releases him in order to slip his t-shirt over his head. As if he hasn’t been shorting out enough of Shane’s neurons already.

Whatever notions he’s had, Shane wants to learn every one of them. His hands flex, unsure where to touch first. “Jesus, you could’ve _said_ something.”

“Pot, kettle.” Ryan kisses him, leaning forward in a sinuous ripple of smooth skin and solid pecs and way too many biceps. “It’s bad form to hook up with a colleague. And with your best friend. I didn’t know if the two would cancel each other out and I didn’t want to tempt fate by trying. Also you didn’t ever respond to any of my moves, so...”

He gives a very eloquent roll of his hips to finish the sentence for him.

“Fuck,” Shane whispers, going hot to the tips of his ears. “Wait, you have _moves_?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Ryan groans in exasperation, burying his face in Shane’s neck. Shane’s hand smooths along his spine automatically, drinking in the heat of him. “I’ve been trying to put the moves on you ever since you and Sara consciously uncoupled. And probably before you got together, I just didn’t realize I was doing it at the time. It’s not my fault you’re dense as a post.”

They’re pressed together chest to stomach on top of Ryan’s rumpled comforter but Shane still finds this very hard to believe. The rhythm of his breathing stutters as Ryan’s fingers trip down the center of his chest again, seeking out the rest of his buttons. “You sure this is what you want?” he croaks, gesturing towards himself. “Mess for the foreseeable future, don’t forget.” 

"The question is mutual, but yes. Write it into our contract and I’ll sign my name to it, I’m _that_ kind of sure." Another button undone, a curious rub of Ryan’s thumb between the parted halves of Shane’s shirt. “Sorry I kind of put you in solitary and interrogated you, by the way.”

“Oh, that?” Shane says distractedly as Ryan nudges him flat onto his back and slides astride his thighs in one smooth movement. “No problem, happens all the time.”

Ryan draws his shirt open with agonizing slowness, working the fabric off his shoulders as much as he can with Shane still stretched out under him. He leans in even further, close enough that Shane can see the gleam of his tongue between his parted lips. Instinctively, he tries to surge up and steal a taste, but Ryan chuckles softly. “Let’s get you out of this, all right?”

It’s a particularly well-worn fantasy of his, laying Ryan out and exploring every inch of him. Nudging kisses along the cut of his abs, lapping up the sweep of his spine, nosing into the join of his thigh until Ryan is moaning under him and begging to be sucked. Being on the other end of that kind of attention gives him a pang in his chest, makes it strain like it can barely contain his heart. 

He lies still, lets Ryan guide his arms through their sleeves, lets Ryan keep unwrapping him like something precious and delicate. 

Ryan, who drinks in the sight of him like _Shane_ ’s the one with a toothpaste commercial smile and the kind of six-pack that doesn’t go in a cooler. Shane tries not to squirm under the exposure. The bulge in his pants is shamefully evident, just inches away from where Ryan is straddling him, and he has to clutch at the bedclothes to keep from trying to cover himself. 

The thrill of Ryan’s fingers trailing up his ribs makes him bite down on his lip, nipples tightening. 

Ryan’s eyebrows leap. “Oh, wow,” he murmurs, and thumbs one. 

Shane can’t help it. His lower body thrusts upward, seeking any friction Ryan’s willing to give.

That’s all it takes to spur Ryan into action. He experimentally pinches Shane’s other nipple, rolls it between his fingers when Shane gasps and moves into his touch. Shane tries to keep still, not wanting to break the moment. Ryan pinches them both a little harder, coaxing them into a vibrant pink, plays with him until Shane’s chest stings from overstimulation. 

Incrementally, he scoots forward on Shane’s thighs until he’s practically on his groin. Shane’s hands are shaking when they let go of the covers and take hold of Ryan’s hips. Ryan makes a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat and Shane lets himself grab hold of him properly then, gripping Ryan in place as he pushes the ridge of his cock against him in a slow, lewd roll.

Another sound vibrates between them and it takes Shane a second to realize it's him. Moaning.

Ryan’s hot mouth engulfs one nipple as his fingers knead at the other, and Shane could fucking _cry_ it feels so good. That seems to encourage Ryan into trying a gentle bite, plump lips parting around him. The deep, wet-sounding suck of it goes straight to Shane’s cock, pushes a broken whine out of him. But Ryan just gives a muffled hum and switches to the other side of his chest, working him over until both nipples are reddened and glossed slick when he draws back. He blows on the little peaks of skin, making Shane’s hands spasm and clutch harder at Ryan’s hips, and then he’s diving right back down, soothing the chill of it with his mouth, slow and sinful. 

Shane strangles a whimper into a gust of tangled breath, head going back, chest pressing up into Ryan’s hands. “Don't have a fetish for nipples, huh?”

Ryan smirks into the arch of his throat. “Maybe for yours I do.”

“This is just a night full of firsts, isn’t it?” Shane gives him a little shove, rearranges them until their legs are intertwined. The hot nudge of Ryan’s hard-on is pressed right up against him, thick through the soft cloth of his joggers. Ryan’s hips go rolling against his thigh, wanton. 

Shane gathers his willpower, tries not to fall apart from the lingering scorch of Ryan’s kisses over his chest. “Can I touch you?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Ryan hisses, and ripples against him. 

Shane bites his lip and tugs the waistband down as far as he can, until it’s caught around Ryan’s thighs and there’s nothing hindering his touch but Ryan’s boxers. The bulge of his erection through them is obscene, hot to the touch when Shane presses his palm to it.

Ryan’s cock twitches and he can _feel_ it, holy fuck. He’s never felt more out of his depth or less capable of self-restraint.

“Shane,” Ryan is gasping, “fuck, man, you gotta—”

“Yeah, yeah, ’s okay, I’m gonna,” Shane babbles back to him, smudging a sloppy string of kisses along the grit of his jaw.

His fingertips are clumsy as he draws the boxers out of the way too, pulse blurring in his temples when the swollen head of Ryan’s cock eases free.

He barely gets a glimpse of it before Ryan is scrabbling at the button of his chinos. “We’ve gotta up our nakedness factor here.” He stops, looks up at Shane with a cheeky grin. “You okay with that?”

There’s only one response to that and Shane gives it. 

The next thing he knows, his clothes are in a heap on the floor and he’s being bowled over by the electrifying feel of skin on bare skin. His mouth is on Ryan’s like he wants to swallow him whole, one hand in his hair to urge them deeper into each other. Ryan is grabbing a handful of his ass, which is impressive since Shane really doesn’t have a lot going on back there. They rut against each other, trying to find a rhythm, finally settling their hips together and letting Shane guide them into a filthy, lazy grind. Ryan draws a leg up, slings it over his hip, their limbs hot around each other.

Then Ryan reaches down, finds the straining length of his dick, and gives him a long smooth stroke.

Shane cries out, so sharp and loud it’s embarrassing. He instantly tries to smother himself, but Ryan is already there, drawing his hand away from his mouth, then kissing it loose and open. “Nobody’s home, nobody’s gonna hear you except me, okay? You’ve been quiet for way too long, it’s okay to let it out.” 

He works a hand between them, encircles Shane’s cock and squeezes him again. 

Shane whimpers, feels himself drip over Ryan’s knuckles.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Ryan murmurs against his ear, suckling at the lobe between encouragements. “Wanna hear you. I like hearing you.”

He won’t, can’t last much longer. Shane can feel his balls drawing in, tight and full. Ryan cups them, squeezes a little, and Shane pulses in his hand. 

“Let me see you come,” Ryan pleads, voice worn down into a ragged whisper. “Lemme see it, Shane, c’mon, it’s okay.”

Every muscle in his body locks up when the orgasm hits him. Ryan’s fist tightens around the head of his cock, his other hand tugs tentatively around Shane’s balls, and Shane doesn’t even have a chance to choke out a warning. 

It envelopes him like a tongue of flame, scouring under his skin, twisting through his belly. His come is spilling all over Ryan’s hand, making a mess of them both, and Ryan just croons at him and keeps jerking him through it, undaunted. A strange flutter of tenderness settles over Shane, makes him nuzzle blindly at Ryan’s cheek. Spasm after spasm racks through him and Ryan is there holding him for each and every one.

The world fades out for a little while. Shane’s not aware of anything but the way his breath hitches, the rasp of Ryan’s stubble against his cheek, the thickness of Ryan’s arm where he’s gripping it as if to keep himself tethered to the earth. 

He opens his eyes to the sound of Ryan’s voice, the feel of Ryan’s fingers playing with one of his oversensitive nipples. 

It takes a moment to realize Ryan isn’t just talking to himself in that way he has. Ryan, interestingly, sounds almost shy. 

“I didn't know you…” He drops his lashes in a way that would be demure if he wasn’t also absently touching himself. It’s a whole new level of indecent, Ryan looking like a blushing virgin from the neck up as he's blatantly showing Shane how hard his cock is, all plumped up and needy between his thighs. “Have you...what you said before, in the bathroom, have you?”

Shane's ears burn as he recalls the tail end of his tirade. “Ah. No. I’ve never had an actual flesh and blood dick in me before, but if I did I’d want it to be yours.”

“Wait, _what_?” Ryan yelps. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to flatter me or freak me out. Or lowkey admit you’ve been probed by aliens.”

“Nah, just other stuff.” 

There’s a pause, then Ryan fixes him with the same kind of look he busts out whenever Shane shoots holes in one of his theories. “Shane, do you _want_ me to think you’ve been fucked by tentacles?”

“Sex toys are a thing and some of them even look like tentacles.” He shrugs, trying to exude as much nonchalance as possible. “Okay, so I’ve never been with a guy, but I’ve dabbled.”

“Yeah, I _bet_ you dabbled yourself.” Ryan titters. “You should tell me about that sometime.”

“I'll show _you_ dabbling,” Shane retorts, not caring how little sense that makes. He mouths a trail down Ryan’s chest, his abs, nuzzling into his belly until Ryan’s voice shudders around his name. 

Ryan’s dick is flushed and heavy, curving up towards his stomach. There’s a clear drop of fluid clinging to the slit of his cockhead. Shane wants to make him come more than anything, to jerk him off with the same effortless ease of Ryan’s hand on him, but he hesitates. 

“You’ve gotta tell me what to do. I don’t know my way around an uncut penis.”

Incredulity overtakes Ryan’s face so fast it’s almost cartoonish. “Let’s unpack that statement. First of all, you just admitted you don’t know your way around _any_ penis aside from your own. Second of all, there’s just a limited number of destinations here and you don’t exactly need a map to make it there. Third,” Ryan’s nose scrunches, “ _please_ don’t say penis, it’s so...stodgy.”

“I talk stodgy when I’m flustered,” Shane protests. “It’s one of my most winning qualities.”

Ryan gives him a pitying look. “Please. You’ve got so many qualities that are way more winning.” 

“You can itemize them for me later,” Shane promises. He forces himself to look Ryan in the eye without flinching. “I just want to get this right and make you feel good, okay? I know it’s kind of pathetic, I should’ve already done all the sloppy trial and error exploration stuff, but I just—”

With a huff, Ryan drags him into a kiss that pockmarks his vision with sparks. 

“Sloppy exploration is what we _do_ , isn't it?” he demands when he releases Shane. 

He does have a point. Unsolved is kind of based around exactly that, and if this whole business venture isn’t its own brand of sloppy exploration then Shane doesn’t know what is.

“Besides,” Ryan continues, “anything you do will make me feel good and last like ten seconds. Trust me on this one.” 

He’s already curling their hands together, guiding Shane’s grip around him. 

“You know I trust you,” Shane says. There’s a rawness to the words that surprises him. “I just want you to know I’ll get better at this, okay? Because if I suck at it, I don’t want you to...I just. I want to have more opportunities than right now to get it right. You know?”

“You think I’m letting you get away from me that easy?” Ryan sounds affronted. He’s looking at Shane in a way that makes him feel as if he’s been opened up like a treasure box, as if every hope and fear in his brain has been sifted through and catalogued. “You think I’m gonna treat this like a one-off after everything we’ve been through?”

Shane swallows down a pulse of panic. “No, fuck, I just mean—”

Very gently, Ryan kisses the corner of his mouth. “Shhh. I know. We’re already getting it right, big guy. We’ve got plenty of time to get it even more right.” He slants a smile at him. “I might have to stop calling you big guy because it’s a little too on the nose, but hey. If that’s the only downside, I’ll take it.”

Relief washes over Shane as an intensely dorky smile spreads over his face. Five hundred half-formed sentences flood his mind, each one more sentimental than the next. 

What comes out of his mouth is, “So I’d really, really like to get you off now. Ya dig?”

And he lets Ryan show him what to do.

True to his word, it doesn’t take long.

Not quite as little as ten seconds, maybe, but Ryan is spilling come over their clasped fingers before Shane has had a chance to kiss him again.

He’s so flushed afterward, watching with enormous eyes as Shane curiously laps at the taste of him. 

“My turn for dumb question o’clock,” Ryan says eventually. They’ve stripped the comforter off the bed and are curled against each other under Ryan’s relatively unscathed sheets. “You’re not going home, right? We can talk more, or if you don’t wanna talk then you don’t even have to stay the night in my bed, I can crash in Roland’s room or the couch or—”

Shane shushes him with a kiss, because he can. “What if I like your bed?” 

“Then...you can have it?”

“Awesome.” Shane lets his eyes slide closed and his arm slide across Ryan’s waist, feeling utterly at peace with the world. “As long as you’re still in it.”

He falls asleep to the surreal sensation of feeling Ryan’s grin instead of seeing it.

  
  


**011**

  
  


All things considered, getting Steven to come around is a piece of cake.

Ryan invites him over, briefs him on their plan, walking him through their progress so far. He calls Shane afterward to say he thinks it went well, that Steven wants some time to ruminate and then meet with them both.

“You think he’s just drawing it out to make us squirm?” Shane asks. He’s in the middle of Target and determined to keep this conversation short, but addressing Steven’s trolling potential seems important.

He can practically hear the gears turning in Ryan’s head. “I wasn’t before, but now I’m kind of wondering. He _would_ do that.”

Admittedly, the two of them have given Steven a fair amount of grief over the years. He just makes it so damn easy sometimes. Which, when rounded to the nearest arbitrary benchmark, is most of the time.

“I think he’ll go for it,” Ryan adds. “I really talked up the Try Guys’ stats and then pulled out the numbers for Worth it and Unsolved, did a whole ‘by our powers combined’ thing. He loves that kind of stuff, all that _data_.” There’s an audible shudder in his voice. “Then I reminded him it only took Safiya a month to break a million subscribers after she struck out on her own. And now she has more than Ladylike.”

“Did you actually quote Captain Planet at him?”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Ryan says evasively. “The point is, I think we got him.”

“And, uh. Did you say anything about us?” Shane grimaces next to a display of cat toys. “Like...about how we’re an us now?”

Ryan, bless him, doesn’t so much as snort at how middle school he sounds. “Not yet, but I will. Didn’t want to overload him, you know?”

It’s a fair point, but it still makes Shane uneasy. Steven needs to know what kind of madness he’s walking into before he makes a decision.

The day they all meet in Ryan’s kitchen, Ryan goes whole hog. He springs for some cheap champagne and some snacks that aren’t Doritos. There are actual shrimp skewers, which makes Shane boggle until he notices the recycling bin is full to bursting with Trader Joe’s frozen food boxes. 

“If this doesn’t show him we’re serious, nothing will,” Ryan proclaims, setting down a glass bowl of Tide pods.

“You’re a born recruiter,” Shane agrees, rummaging around for a corkscrew. “Do we have to wait for him before we can eat any of this?”

Ryan rounds on him. “This is a corporate dinner function, of course we have to wait.”

“Steven Lim could survive on nothing but truffle oil and Jesus, he won’t mind if I have a nibble.”

They’re still bickering by the time Steven actually does turn up.

The first thing he does is run a hand through his hair and say, “Ryan, you need to explain yourself.”

Shane pauses en route to the truffle mousse pâté. “Oh no, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Ryan sputters.

But Steven is already calmly scrolling through his phone. “Check this out. Someone left me a voicemail the other night, so either your phone got stolen or...”

He trails off to the tune of Ryan’s recorded, clearly inebriated voice singing something that sounds vaguely like the Frozen soundtrack. 

Shane eyeballs Ryan, who is suddenly very interested in the place settings. “Did the bro zone get a little wild the other night?”

“We had a few drinks and I guess one of them hacked my phone. Crazy!”

The Ryan on Steven’s phone cracks up at something, maybe himself. Then he’s singing again. “Do you wanna start a business?” 

Shane snorts and helps himself to some pear tart. “Is this your idea of professionalism?”

“Come on, how professional do I need to be for Stevie boy here?” 

“You wouldn’t let me eat until he got here because this is a corporate function!” Shane shoots back, making air quotes with one hand and balancing his plate with the other.

Steven, cool as a cucumber, is already munching on a shrimp skewer. Typical. “You know, I was already pretty sold on this before Ryan drunk-dialed me.”

“My man!” Ryan exults. “We’ve gotta handle our own quality assurance with this baby and you, my friend, are the Q-est of the A. This is gonna be so good.”

Shane waits for Ryan to say something about them, but he doesn’t. He swallows and opens his mouth.

But Steven is already pushing back his chair. “I had a few things I wanted to go over, but I left my backpack in my car. Give me a sec, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll tell him!” Ryan insists the instant Steven’s out of earshot. “I just needed to celebrate first.”

His energy is so infectious Shane feels a sudden rush of affection. He curls his fingers around the meat of Ryan’s arm, catches him against the refrigerator, and guides them into a kiss. Gentle, easy, so warm and familiar already. He deepens the kiss, eases his tongue along Ryan’s bottom lip, then into the welcoming heat of his mouth.

Ryan tastes delicious, sweet like pear tart and far more addictive.

“We’ll both tell him,” Shane corrects. And he kisses him again, firm and thorough. Just because he feels like it and he’s allowed to do this sort of thing with Ryan now. “We will have a mature, rational chat about where we’re heading personally and professionally and then he can make an informed decision.”

“Awesome,” Ryan mumbles, his mouth deliciously hot alongside Shane’s jaw. “We’re totally gonna do that.”

What happens instead is that Steven, with the tread of a ninja, chooses that moment to come back into the kitchen. 

Shane panics.

"I was just...looking at something. In Ryan’s, uh...eye."

Steven blinks. "You missed."

Ryan gives Shane’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Hey now, Big Apple Steve here is a man of the world.” 

He turns to face Steven, suddenly all business. “Here’s the rest of the info you might need before you make a decision. We’re trying to figure out the business thing and it would be awesome to cut you in on this once in a lifetime opportunity. That hasn’t changed. We’re also trying to figure out some other stuff and we needed to tell you...because, like, if that’s gonna weird you out, no hard feelings.”

“Other stuff,” Steven deadpans.

“Boyfriend stuff?” Ryan answers, more high-pitched than before, and Shane goes momentarily incandescent. “But yeah, we’ll keep things profesh. Or at least as profesh as you’re used to us being.”

Steven appears to turn this explanation over for a minute, idly munching on a piece of garlic brioche toast. “You guys know I’ve seen people kissing before, right?”

“Well—” Shane starts, and promptly gets Ryan’s finger in his ribs for it.

“It’s not that,” says Ryan. “It’s the...us part of it.” 

Steven is fretting to himself. "I am so out of the loop." 

Shane can’t help giving him a sidelong look, "You sure it's even a loop you wanna be in?” He’s already prepared for Steven to say something about embracing whatever path the Creator has laid out for them.

Steven does not say anything of the sort.

“Just don’t do anything unsanitary while we’re doing business.” He looks contemplative. “I can make some signs to hang around the office if you think you might need the reminder. Just saying, I’ve seen this guy with his shirt off.”

“Wait. So does that mean you’re in?” There’s no hiding the disbelief in Ryan’s voice.

Shane is right there with him, albeit a little distracted by the image of Steven painstakingly designing and laminating “no-bone zone” flyers. They both thought Steven would need a lot more convincing. 

“Sure.” Steven smiles, slow and catlike. “Like you said, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Ryan looks like he might actually start jumping up and down. “Any other questions you have for me?”

Steven inclines his head towards Shane. “ I was going to ask what else you’ve been doing lately, but the answer is literally staring me in the face, so.” 

Shane desperately wants to sweep Ryan into a kiss, but he gives him a wink instead. “I’ll check your other eye later.” Then, to Steven, “You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

Steven flicks an amused glance over to Ryan and then back to Shane, one eyebrow hitching upward ever so slightly. “Do you?”

Shane has a sudden, unexpected urge to high five him. It’s possible that they’ve just handed Steven all the payback ammunition he could ever need, but that’s fine.

Ryan, caught midway through a swallow of wine, practically snorts it out through his nose.

And just like that, Steven Lim is part of their team.

  
  


**012**

  
  


“ _Boyfriend_ stuff,” Shane says to him after Steven’s gone.

Ryan looks pink and vulnerable, which just makes Shane want to wrap him in his arms and treat him like something soft and precious. “Yeah, that just kind of popped out. But I mean...it’s not inaccurate?”

That questioning lilt at the end is what does it, like he’s waiting for Shane to reassure him.

And he does, right there in the kitchen, and then on the couch because they have at least an hour before Kendall or Kylie get home from work.

He doesn’t go into this with the express intention of sucking Ryan off. It just so happens that he winds up with Ryan’s strong thighs over his shoulders, Ryan’s cock in his mouth, and Ryan making desperate little noises like he’s right on the edge of coming. He’s gorgeous, spread out and bare like this, but the sounds escaping him are getting increasingly frustrated. Shane is crunched into an awkward position near the arm of the couch and his jaw is going numb.

He pulls off, shamefaced. “Remember the part where I don't know what I'm doing?”

Ryan is on him immediately, all soothing kisses and warm smooth strokes of his hands. “Hey, no, that's okay. It was really good for your first time.” His lashes shutter, cock nudging into Shane’s hip as he gathers him close. “Fuck, just give me your hand, I’m so fucking close. Or—or I'll help you. I don't know much either, but I blew a guy in college a couple times.”

Shane pauses with his hand halfway around Ryan’s dick, which he’s aware is poor etiquette, but _really_ . “You _what_.”

“It was a convenience thing, it's not like we were _together_ together. We helped each other through our dry spells just like anyone else.”

Not for the first time, Shane wonders what planet Ryan’s frat was from. He strokes him, toes curling when he realizes the slickness of Ryan’s cock is from him putting his mouth there. “ _Anyone else_ does not do that, Ryan.”

Ryan whines, tries to rut himself into the tight tunnel of Shane’s fist. “They should, it’s very—oh, _fuck_ , just like that—useful.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re ridiculous?” Shane says conversationally, entranced by the slide of Ryan’s cock through his fingers.

“Just saying, eagerness means more than skill. And you,” his voice dips low and he draws Shane up into a long, mind-meltingly good kiss, “are so, _so_ eager about getting my dick in your mouth, aren't you, big guy?”

They’ve been a couple for five whole days now and Ryan has shown exactly no signs of dropping the nickname. Shane is perfectly fine with that.

Ryan presses his face to the hollow of Shane’s throat, gives a slow-curling lick to it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done it, but maybe I could show you sometime. You want me to do that for you?” He eases his hand into the open fly of Shane’s pants. “Want me to get my mouth on your stupidly big dick until you're choking me on it?” 

Shane lets out a strangled cry and pounces on him, gets him splayed flat on his back again. This time, he paces himself, suckling just the head of Ryan’s dick while working the rest of it with his hand. Ryan lets him, spreads his legs wider, displaying himself for the taking. 

Shane doesn’t end up getting him off with his mouth, it’s mostly his hand and only the occasional slow, filthy lick. But it makes Ryan come, makes Ryan laugh into his hair afterward and kiss his raw, oversensitive mouth. 

“You look,” Ryan murmurs, “so fucking hot right now. I’m gonna take your pants off, that cool?”

“Hashtag just boyfriend stuff,” Shane says, already blissed out on endorphins. 

“This is the most hilarious way of deciding we’re boyfriends now,” Ryan informs him. “We should send Steven a bouquet or something.”

Shane groans. “Please don’t talk about Steven while you’re trying to get into my pants.”

“Fair. We should probably send him truffles anyway.”

“Oh my god, go to your _room_.”

Ryan does, ultimately, do just that. He just takes Shane with him, leaving his chinos crumpled on the living room floor for one of his roommates to stumble across later. Boyfriend stuff, Shane is learning, encompasses everything from orgasms to awkwardness. 

  
  


**013**

  
  


On top of everything, they still have their Unsolved schedule to stick to. 

Shane, as per usual, swears not to read the comments and inevitably does, no matter how much it chafes each time some rando online says he and Ryan seem distant and tired. They _are_ tired, but that’s not for the internet to judge. All things considered, Shane thinks they’re managing to balance everything pretty well. Their business venture is staying firmly under wraps until they’re ready for the world to know about it, and so is the state of his and Ryan’s relationship.

Although that cat does fight its way out of the bag a little earlier than planned.

It happens during the La Llorona shoot. Curly, who misses nothing, gives them a long look when the cameras are packed away for the day. 

“So y’all are fucking, right?”

And Ryan, who has the world’s worst poker face to begin with, just gapes at him. “Who?”

Things unravel steadily from there.

They only tell a few people at first. Shane tells Sara, Ryan tells his roommates, and Steven keeps his dainty little mouth shut like a gentleman. By the time they start letting more of their friends know, Shane has just accepted that someone is eventually going to tell the internet, which will then explode. It’s a foregone conclusion and he’ll be right there reading the comments like a masochist.

“It’s kind of funny,” Ryan muses one night when they’re lounging in Shane’s bed. “Everyone thinks we’re fucking and we haven’t. Not technically, I mean. I’m not trying to get into a debate about what counts as sex or anything like that.”

Shane can’t resist. He drapes himself over Ryan and leers exaggeratedly. “So what _are_ you trying to get into?”

“You tell me, Mr. ‘I-want-your-flesh-and-blood-dick-in-me,’” Ryan says tartly. 

Emboldened, Shane asks one of the many questions that’s been burrowing into his brain since Ryan first kissed him. “Have you done anything with another guy before? Aside from the one you swapped brojobs with in college?”

Ryan colors. “Not really. I think you’re ahead of me on this one, actually.”

That piques Shane’s interest even more. He turns the words over in his head, pondering. “You've never been fucked, have you?” He feels Ryan tense under him and eases a hand beneath his shirt, rubbing soothing circles just below the hem. “It's okay, me neither, not with anything attached to another person.” 

“I've topped,” Ryan says, a little defensively. “Just never with a guy. Some girls are into that too, you know. And we don’t all get probed by sexy aliens like you.” 

A little more petting has him admitting he’s never done it to himself more than a handful of times, never pushed more than a finger inside the tight furl of his hole until his face flamed and his cock throbbed. “Why?” Shane asks. “If it feels good, then why stop?” 

Ryan’s catches his lower lip between his pearly teeth, leaves it nipped pink when he lets it go. “This is dumb, I know. It just felt _dirty_. Like it was too good.”

That surprises him. For all Ryan fixates on anal probing, he’s almost timid about this. It’s not like Shane went in here with a plan, but he can make one up. Can’t plan out a relationship the way you do a business, after all. There’s still so much he has to learn about what Ryan likes, what _he_ likes doing with Ryan, what other unforeseen stimuli might make them tick.

He takes in a breath, swallowing as one of Ryan’s thumbs rubs between the part of his button-up and he exhales unsteadily. Blurting, "You wanna fuck me?" 

Ryan’s mouth moves, trying to fit around words that don't come out until after a few tries. Even then, it's only a none-too-inspiring, "Oh. Sure?" As if just hearing Shane say _fuck me_ is enough to render him useless.

And it still makes Shane unspool, heedless. His hands slip further up Ryan’s shirt, eager to drink in all that heat. He tilts his head, kissing down the side of Ryan’s face, over his jaw, latching his lips onto a soft portion of his throat. Ryan loves having attention lavished on his neck and Shane delivers exactly that, sucking lightly enough not to leave a mark but plenty hard enough to make Ryan moan.

When he comes up for air, Ryan is flicking his tongue uncertainly over his lower lip, leaning in close enough for it to brush Shane’s as well. He angles his head slightly, kissing at the curve of Shane’s jaw, tangling one hand in the mop of his hair. His body eases itself into Shane’s space as if he means to meld them into one person. And then Ryan’s other hand slides lower and finds the tab of his zipper. 

Softly—so softly, Shane hardly even hears him. "Could I?"

Shane’s breath goes ragged. He can't help himself, there's this burn that’s worked its way up under his skin, needling at him. He writhes against Ryan’s touch, cranes his neck just to feel the sweet ache of his hair being pulled. "Yeah...yeah _please_." 

He tries and fails to force his trembling hands still long enough to pluck at Ryan’s shirt.

Ryan pulls it off one-handed, then reaches over Shane's shoulders to do him the same courtesy. Shane could kiss him for that, so he does, a quicksilver dash of his tongue into the cavern of Ryan’s mouth.

They’re bare from the waist up now, both of them. As much as Shane wants to look his fill—he always wants to look his full of Ryan, it’s a problem—he doesn't give himself much time at all before lapping hotly over the curve of his ribs. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ryan squeaks.

Shane works him over, lips pursing over the tight nub of a nipple and sucking there just to get Ryan riled up a little more. He feels the tingle of anticipation under Ryan’s skin, punctuated by a noise Shane can't even begin to classify as anything other than something he wants to hear again. 

He wants for Ryan to always be like this for him, laid out and lavished with attention that sets his nerves aflame. He wants to learn every place on Ryan’s body that makes him light up with need, and he wants to _keep_ doing that for him for as long as he’s allowed.

“‘M gonna run to the bathroom,” he whispers, peeling himself away from Ryan while he still can. “Top drawer on the right, get cozy.” 

When he comes back, toweling off from the world’s quickest shower, Ryan is still in the same spot. There’s a flush dashed high on his cheeks, like he’s gotten sunburned in the space of five minutes, and there isn’t a stitch left on him. 

“I found the...stuff,” he says unnecessarily, gesturing to the condoms and lube. His breath spikes in hard, like he’s bracing himself for something. “Do you—is that really what you do to yourself?” 

Right. The _stuff_. Shane tosses his towel towards the hamper. “Yup. Sure do.”

As he watches, Ryan’s eyes get a few sizes wider.

Shane takes pity on him. “We can take a fun interactive tour of the rest of that drawer some other time, I promise. But for now, we have everything we’re gonna need.” 

He drapes himself across the bed, palming the lube as he goes. Ryan clambers over him, wraps him into a kiss so needy and desperate it’s as though they’ve been apart for months. His hands are in Shane’s hair again, carding through it just hard enough to pull. A low moan surges out of him, gets devoured by Ryan’s greedy pink mouth the instant he utters it. 

Shane’s cock is so hard it aches, dripping between them, slicking up the space between their bellies. He lets his thighs fall open, cradling Ryan between them without breaking the kiss. 

“God, you're wet,” Ryan says reverently, and it's something Shane's said to girls before but never had said to _him_. He can feel his body blooming all over with a flush.

Ryan palms his thighs apart even more, spreading him, and then just looking at him there, where Shane’s skin is still pink from the scrubdown he gave himself. Shane squirms. “Ryan…”

That makes Ryan look up almost guiltily. He leans in and kisses the corner of Shane’s mouth. “Tell me if you don’t like it and I’ll stop, got it?”

“Oh,” Shane replies, mouth curving into a lazy smirk, “I’ll like it.” Then, when Ryan doesn’t so much as blink: “Yeah, I got it.”

“Like this is okay?” Ryan seems dubious. “It’s supposed to be easier if you…” he makes an indistinct motion with his hand. It’s wildly endearing. Shane wonders briefly if he researched this. It’s Ryan, therefore it’s entirely possible.

“Get your fingers in me, then I’ll turn over for the main event.”

Ryan nods, mouths a wet little mark into the inside of his thigh. 

The first touch of Ryan’s fingertip to his hole has Shane’s spine arching off the bed. He's so sensitive inside, so tight and needy. Ryan warms him up, mouth dropped open, slicked-up fingers light against his hole before pressing, so carefully, inward. 

“Holy fuck, Shane.” Ryan’s voice jitters into a nervous laugh. “Is it always like that for you?”

Shane can’t answer, isn’t sure himself how much is his own desperate body and how much is just Ryan being the one doing this for him. 

When Ryan lets his finger slip the rest of the way in, they both catch their breath in unison. Ryan’s breath is unsteady against Shane’s thigh. “You just...you’re so _hot_ inside, Jesus fuck. Doing okay?”

Shane sinks his teeth into his lip and nods like mad.

Ryan fucks him on one finger for a long time. He seems enthralled by Shane’s responses, prodding inside him at different angles and letting out little hums of surprise each time he elicits a whimper or a jolt of his hips. Shane is so soft and open for him, his body eagerly clenching around two of Ryan's fingers when he eases them inside. His cock is dripping a pool of precome all over his stomach, but he doesn’t dare touch himself, not yet. 

His hole clings to Ryan’s fingers, contracting around them as they pump into him. Once or twice, Ryan grazes his prostate, making Shane groan and grip convulsively at the sheets.

By the time he turns over, wobbling onto all fours with Ryan draped hard and solid across his back, Shane is ready to start begging him for it. It shouldn’t surprise him that Ryan’s a natural at this, he’s so thoughtful and thorough about anything that matters to him. It’s like a slap of pure vertigo when he puts the pieces together— _connects the dots, if you will_ , supplies a surprisingly lucid part of his brain — that one of these things is _him_.

He feels Ryan’s hot face is pressing into his nape, feels his mouth part in silent pleasure when he presses the head of his cock inside Shane for the first time. He’s breathing hard, hips trembling, breath gusting across Shane’s shoulders. 

Shane rocks back against him just a touch, urging him on.

Ryan swears and presses forward, lodges deeper inside him. He’s trying so hard to take care of him, filling him so slowly it makes Shane’s chest ache. A groan rolls up from the pit of his stomach, raspy and pleased, when Ryan finally, finally bottoms out. 

“Shane, are you—?”

Part of Shane wants to say something quippy, but he’s long past the point of quippiness. “Move. _Please_.” 

It’s possible his voice cracks. Ryan is so warm curled against his back, whimpering with the effort of holding himself still, and he doesn’t _need_ to. 

When he does, the suddenness of it makes Shane’s arms give out. Ryan is _fucking_ him, gripping him by the hips and rutting his cock into him hard and steady. All Shane can do in response is force himself back up onto his braced elbows and drip all over the sheets. 

Someday, Shane vows, he’ll do this for Ryan. He’ll work him up to it, help him learn that feeling dirty and too good aren’t mutually exclusive. He’ll pin him down and fuck him hard and send him back to talk shop with their sponsors hardly able to walk straight. He’ll tease those tight nipples into redness, shove his fingers into Ryan’s gasping mouth, make him suck them slick **,** then push him up on his hands and knees, part his cheeks, and spend ages just riding the aching length of his cock against the tight clench of his hole. He’ll make him work for it and beg for it before he finally fingers Ryan open and feeds his cock into him. He’ll leave Ryan wrecked and sated, his beautiful body heaving and dappled with blazing red marks.

“Yeah,” Ryan croons, voice gone low and dirty. “Gonna let me come inside you?” 

Shane can’t fucking breathe. 

Ryan’s cock is so slick, pulsing where it's buried inside him. He has a condom on, but the idea of it makes Shane thrust back against him with a choked-off whimper, arms shaking. 

“Say it, big guy,” Ryan urges. He gives a languid, full roll of his hips, pressing inside Shane to the hilt. Then he’s drawing back with agonizing slowness until just the head of his dick is keeping him spread open. Shane buries his face in the pillow and moans like his life depends on it. 

“I...I want you to come inside me,” he grits out, face burning and sweat prickling his temples. 

“That’s it,” Ryan purrs into his nape, and then he’s pushing forward incrementally, grinding inside him inch by slow exquisite inch. “How's it feel?” 

Shane is going to have a heart attack. Dead of dick at the ripe old age of thirty-three, what a way to go. 

“Good,” he breathes. “So fucking good, baby, don’t stop.” 

Ryan is nuzzling his nape, planting sweet little kisses there that are completely at odds with the filth pouring out of his mouth. “Gonna get you all wet inside, make you ache for it when I’m not in you.” This new side of Ryan has Shane’s heart ready to thump through his ribs. 

He clenches his muscles, feels the hot throb of Ryan inside him when he comes. 

When Ryan’s hand wraps around his dick, it takes him by surprise. First time fucking another man and he’s still considerate enough to make sure he helps Shane get off, that’s his Ryan. He twists his wrist on each upstroke, squeezing the thickness of him, and it’s too much. Even though Ryan is clumsy at trying to fuck and jerk him off at the same time, even though his grip is awkward, it’s more than enough. 

The orgasm has Shane melting into the mattress, completely and utterly drained.

There’s a hand on his back, a voice in his ear.

“Shane, buddy, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

Ryan is mother henning him for all he’s worth, a combination of sweetness and anxiety so familiar it makes Shane laugh, fucked out and flying high and probably making poor Ryan ready to call him an ambulance.

He flails out a hand, catches Ryan’s hot cheek in the cup of his palm, and eases their faces as close as he can.

“You good?” Ryan says again, warily.

With superhuman effort, Shane forces his eyes open. “You kinky fucker. Literally.”

They’re going to have so, _so_ much fun together.

  
  


**014**

  
  


“LimBerMad?” Shane’s tone speaks volumes. 

Ryan is laughing his ass off. “That sounds like a sketchy gymnastics studio, what the fuck.” 

“It's just a placeholder until we figure out a real name,” Steven protests, but Ryan is having none of it.

“I think I saw a Limbermad the last time I went to IKEA,” Shane says mildly, and that just sets him off all over again.

“Again, placeholder name! Since we have no actual name! Which we need to fix, like, yesterday,” Steven declares over Ryan’s cackling. 

Shane can practically see a neon “the lord is testing me” sign blinking over Steven’s head.

“Right, you know what, I’m just going to annotate the budget adjustment and we’ll figure out the name thing later.” Steven jabs a finger at them as he heads toward the living room. “But it has to be _soon_.”

He’s barely out of the room before Ryan is hefting himself up onto the kitchen table and Shane is cozied up into the sprawl of his thighs. 

“Okay, quick, keep an eye out for when he comes back,” Shane laps a line up the muscle of Ryan’s neck. “We’re supposed to be _professional_.” His eye roll is lost on Ryan, who’s already sighing and baring his throat for more.

Ryan’s hands are splayed across his back, their mouths breathing into each other, and for a small eternity the rest of the room is nothing but an afterthought.

Steven clears his throat.

“Dude, is your _butt_ on top of my budget adjustments?”

Shane wonders if there’s some way they can get Steven to wear a bell, or at least some jingly ankle bracelets. He gives Ryan an arch look. “You were supposed to be watching for him, not letting him wander in and watch _us_!”

Ryan looks like he’s about to argue that point, but Shane beats him to it. “And don’t blame my big ol’ noggin for this because you’ve got some altitude on me for once in your pocket-sized life.”

Abashed, Ryan slides off the table. 

Steven, tittering primly, collects his precious budget revision. “Does this answer the eternal question of who watches the Watcher?”

Ryan gets a speculative look on his face. “Hold that thought.”

  
  


**015**

  
  


Starting your own corporation, it turns out, is about so many things.

It’s about the slack-jawed awe of snagging a new financial backer.

It’s about the surge of pride and aching back of moving into a new office, a disarray of bags and pelican cases eating up every surface and so much work left to be done, but still _theirs_.

It’s about perpetually having half a mind to look into your co-CEOs’ faces and demand _“How are you going to pull this off?”_ then realizing you can't ask a question like that when you could repeat it in all justification to a mirror. 

They officially incorporate and start production in May. Because at the heart of it, starting Watcher is about looking every obstacle in the eye and then pulling it off anyway.

But even then, there’s always a daunting new crop of tasks around every corner. Shane thinks of it in production terms, like the three of them are constantly peering through a viewfinder and adjusting the focus on this new chapter of their lives. There’s a lot to be said for finding the perfect angle, but the process of capturing it involves so much more. Their company, in the grand scheme of things, is still waiting for its footage to upload and render. And even though it’s part of the process, it’s maddening.

And if anyone asks, Shane could say without hesitation that he has no regrets, that there are so many more positive moments than frustrating ones. 

It’s Shane looking over their contract and demanding, “Why does it say I’m the secretary?” and Steven, not missing a beat, responding, “You can walk in heels better than Ryan or me.”

It's Ryan buying cameras without having a meltdown over the cost and nailing down crew members and utilizing so many of the creative, hardworking minds that Buzzfeed laid off back when Watcher was just the glint of an idea on a horizon he couldn’t quite see.

It’s Steven passed out on the couch with his laptop tucked into his arm like a teddy bear, getting in a power nap for Smash Bros. because Ryan has insisted he needs to take a break every three hours.

It's the way Shane’s heart leaps into his throat when he sinks down into Ryan's lap with their limbs entangled and Ryan's mouth drinking the moans from his lips. 

And it’s being on the brink of something amazing, knowing it’s okay to be scared of what the future holds, but leaping into it anyway, wings spread wide. 


End file.
